There is not sufficient love and goodness in the world to permit us to give some of it away to imaginary beings.
There is no love sincerer than the love of food.
There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.
There is no hatred so great as that of a man who has been made to love a woman against his will.
There is no greater glory than to die for love.[No hay mayor gloria que morir por amor.]
There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.
There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.
There is hardly any activity, any enterprise, which is started with such tremendous hopes and expectations, and yet, which fails so regularly, as love.
There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love.
There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some method in madness.
There is a courtesy of the heart; it is allied to love. From it springs the purest courtesy in the outward behavior.
There can be no true goodness nor true love without the utmost clear-sightedness.
